


Automaton

by Darker_Side



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Breathplay, Choking, Degradation, Emotional release, Established Relationship, F/M, Face Slapping, Forced Orgasm, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, Multiple Orgasms, No Season 5 Spoilers, Oral Fingering, Oral Sex, Post-Orgasm Torture, Praise, Sadomasochism, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, masochism for catharsis, object/owner role-play, relatively gentle S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darker_Side/pseuds/Darker_Side
Summary: “Tell me what you need, Chloe,” he whispered, without much emotion behind the words. His arms were strong around her, holding her still, upright, an effortless hold. He was rigid, not pliant, and he didn’t melt against her frame more than provide a hard surface to pull her towards.“You know what I want,” she hissed, anger flooding in. She hated when he made her say it, hated when he reduced her to a mess that wasn’t allowed to beg for what she wanted. She hated it, and that made her love him more for it. He was perfect in that sense. He broke her down perfectly, then put her back together in the way only he knew how to do.--Chloe likes to stop being a functional human from time to time. Lucifer likes to help her out with that. He's always liked games.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 49
Kudos: 207





	Automaton

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I, in no way, believe that there has to be a specific reason for wanting to participate in any form of BDSM or S&M lifestyle. This was simply an interpretation of a way Chloe might use sex to help work through moments where her head gets too loud. A way that Lucifer can help her escape the reality of her job. I am all for healthy sexual exploration between consenting adults. Everything below is highly, enthusiastically, consensual. 
> 
> Here's a song I thought fit perfectly for this work:  
> [Call the Shots, by Atmosphere [feat. Louise Dowd]](https://youtu.be/t0zkQx7nqAg)
> 
> Hope you guys like this! Don't know how this popped into my head... but it did, so here it is. haha. Enjoy!

She stared down into the honey-colored liquid, the tiny ripples on the surface forming from how hard she was gripping the glass. Tremors from the quaking of her muscles, her knuckles white and tense. Her nostrils flared as her eyes stung, tossing the drink back down her throat, the burn welcomed sensation. She wasn’t feeling much of anything other than rage and hopelessness. Her mind was swimming with vivid images of black bags half the size of the usual, with bodies inside half the size they should be. 

A single tear burned its way down her cheek and she held the glass out, where a warm, strong hand took it from her, fingers grazing her skin before stepping away to refill her drink. In her wait for another burning distraction, her tortured mind reeled in the most recent homicide, the scene they just left from. A six-year-old boy, blonde hair, at least, she thought underneath all the blood, eyes that should have been the color of stained mahogany, instead they were dull and milky. She could still feel how cold he was, how small he looked, how she couldn’t believe that much blood could fit in such a small frame. 

She had been surrounded by death for a while, but that had been their eighth child murder in the last two months, and the death of such innocent beings always hit harder. There was no way to see why someone would want to kill them. They couldn’t cheat, they couldn’t still anything of significance, they couldn’t harm, and they couldn’t defend themselves. Seeing a child so brutalized made her feel sick, made her feel hatred she didn’t know she had in her. Lucifer didn’t take the murders much better, but he stood by her side, always right there when she needed someone to stand behind as she composed herself, when she needed someone to grab her and tell her it would be okay. 

He was someone who gave her soft when she needed it. He was someone who gave her something else when  _ soft _ was the furthest from her mind. When it wasn’t what she needed. 

A new drink appeared in front of her on the bar, and she could feel her lungs shuddering from all the tension she was holding onto as she breathed out. She barely had the glass in her hand before the contents were down her throat, burning, warming the cold pit in her stomach that had been frozen for months. She was sliding the glass back over towards him when his hand wrapped around her wrist, a gentle hold, and she shook it free, slamming her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. She couldn’t handle the softness right now, she couldn’t handle gentleness. If he tried to hug her, she’d break down, crying, and she wasn’t sure when she’d stop. 

He reached out again and she turned her back to him, her arms trying to wrap around herself. Her chest was tight, and it was taking everything out of her to remain upright, to not fold over and let the tears fall. The solid heat of his chest was against her back in less than a second, and she could feel a sob trying to tear itself from her throat, but she grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut harder.

“Tell me what you need, Chloe,” he whispered, without much emotion behind the words. His arms were strong around her, holding her still, upright, an effortless hold. He was rigid, not pliant, and he didn’t melt against her frame more than provide a hard surface to pull her towards. 

“You  _ know _ what I want,” she hissed, anger flooding in. She hated when he made her say it, hated when he reduced her to a mess that wasn’t allowed to beg for what she wanted. She hated it, and that made her love him more for it. He was perfect in that sense. He broke her down perfectly, then put her back together in the way only he knew how to do. 

“Nu-uh,” he spat, squeezing her harder, a hand snaking up to grip at her jaw, thumb and forefinger digging into the soft skin beneath her mandible. “You want that, you ask for it.”

She closed her eyes in relief. There it was, that tone, the authority he could lace into suave words, the tone that demanded someone listen and obey. A voice that she could listen to without thinking about anything else. She felt reprieve when he spoke like that. 

“I want you to make me stop thinking,” she sighed, allowing herself to lean back against him, finding comfort in the heat, in the muscles she wanted to break her down. In the arms she wanted to hold her down and make her take whatever he wanted her to. “I need it hard and mindless. Please.” He never let her beg, but asking nicely was permitted. A single plea would be enough, wouldn’t cross the line for him. “Make me feel something else.” Something other than hopelessness, than all the hate and anger. She was so tired of feeling so much. 

“What’s your word?” he asked, and she could have cried at the relief. When she didn’t answer immediately, he squeezed her jaw tighter, making her whimper, start to squirm, but his arms held her firm. 

“Body bag,” she said softly. It was necessary, but she hated even having to say it. She’d never used it, never felt like she’d have to. Lucifer was a pro at reading her. “Traffic light system, too,” she added. It was great to implement, let him know if she was good to go, needed to slow down, or stop the action, not the scene. She’d never had to call red either. He knew exactly how far to go, when to let off. He was perfect. 

“Good drone,” he praised, and she preened at it. She could already feel herself sinking into it, the role of the thoughtless plaything. The role where she had an on/off switch; no complex thought, no emotion, just sensation or no sensation. “Go stand in front of the couch.” He shoved her in that direction lightly, and she hardly stumbled. She took two steps before she started to shrug out of her jacket, an unconscious thought, but still a thought. A privilege she just opted out of, and she could feel his heat rush behind her again before she could hear or feel anything.

He fisted her ponytail, pulling hard enough to force her neck into an arch, stinging her scalp. “Did I say to get undressed?” She opened her mouth to respond, but his other hand covered her lips, palm curving around the shape of her jaw. “You wanted to stop thinking, so stop. Don’t think, just do what I say.” His lips were against her ear, breath hot and wet, and she nodded in lue of a muffled response. He shoved her away, harder that time, but she walked over to the couch, followed direction, and didn’t think about anything else. 

She registered the sound of liquid pouring, of Lucifer’s shoes against the smooth floor, careful steps that were unhurried, leisurely. He had nothing to hurry for. He’d give her her next command whenever he felt like it. She didn’t need to think about the time, didn’t need to wonder when it would come next. She knew it would, and that was all that mattered. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to just exist, to be in the moment. Thoughtless and inanimate. It could have been a second, it could have been an hour, but she felt the whoosh of air against her knees as Lucifer’s weight settled into the cushions of his couch.

Chloe opened her eyes and saw Lucifer leaned back, comfortably, arms resting along the back edge of the couch, legs spread wide so she was standing between them. He held the air of confidence and domination. He owned the room. He owned  _ her.  _ There was a glass in one of his hands, and he brought it to his lips while he looked directly at her. Making her wait. He swallowed twice, completely unaffected by the burn of liquor she would have felt. “Take everything off, fold your clothes, and put them on the coffee table. Put your boots under the table. Leave your hair up.”

“Yes, Sir,” she answered, slipping out of her jacket, folding it neatly, and placing it on the table next to her. She toed out of her boots, slid them beneath the table, and then worked her socks off. As she did as she was told, she felt his eyes on her the entire time, observing, nonjudgmental. All she had to do was do exactly what he said. There was no room for interpretation. He told her exactly how to do it. Thoughtless action. Thoughtless obedience. 

Her bra and panties were the last articles to go on top of the pile, and she turned to face him again, completely bare, hands lax at her sides. His eyes roamed her body, and he tilted his head as he took in the sight, as he thought about what he wanted to do with his willing object. He took another sip, free hand moving down towards his belt. “Turn around,” he ordered, and she did. It didn’t matter to her what he was doing, it didn’t matter because she wasn’t supposed to think. 

She heard the soft sounds of leather sliding through fabric, the sound of a glass being placed on a table, and then she felt his hands on her wrists, pulling them back, crossing them to rest on her sacrum. He wrapped the belt around her crossed wrists, looping twice before going around the center. He manages to buckle it in place, tugging, testing the pull, before leaning back in his seat. Content. 

“Turn around.” She complied, turning back to face him. He was swirling the remaining bourbon in his glass, watching her as one would watch a house plant. With vague interest, seeing if there were any brown spots, seeing if it were well maintained. “On your knees,” he commanded, eyes flicking down to right between his spread legs. She sunk down, a little less gracefully with her arms behind her back. “Open your mouth.” He said it as his free hand started to unclasp his pants, lowering the zipper and pulling out his half-hard cock. Her mouth was open and waiting, tongue just barely sticking out, covering the edge of her lower teeth, resting on her bottom lip. 

Lucifer shifted himself forward so his cock was directly in front of her, so he had a better reach for her head. He grabbed her ponytail, pushing her down so his cock could slide right in. Her nose was buried in the groomed hairs at the base, the tip nudging at the back of her throat as it continued to pulse and stiffen in her mouth. He yanked her back off, angling her face up so he could lean in close and spit in her mouth before shoving her back down on his fully hard cock. She gagged around it, but let herself just feel the sensation, didn’t let any concern or thought cloud her floating brain. It was what she wanted. Thoughtless action; to be a thing to be used, to escape ordinary human function for a while. To let Lucifer do all the thinking for her. 

“Had to make sure it was wet enough,” he started, sounding unaffected by how far his cock was in her throat. “It’s not like you can think, I have to do that. Couldn’t just expect you to realize that hole was a little dry.” He used his grip in her hair to set a slow, steady pace, fucking her face on his cock, letting it slide on her tongue, silky and heavy. She sighed, closing her eyes, just relishing in the feel of something in her mouth, filling her up, occupying her mind. Her head was full of cock, nothing else. The sharp sting on her cheek forced her eyes open, the heat of his fingers along her face burning the pinked skin. “Did I say you could close your eyes? What were you thinking?” he asked, thumb rubbing along where her lips were stretched over his cock. “Oh, that’s right, you weren’t thinking. Do better at not thinking.” He raised an eyebrow at her, slapping her cheek again, lighter, and she could feel the corners of her stretched mouth rise, grinning around his cock, and that pleased him. He hummed, biting his lower lip, shoving her head down further on his cock. It throbbed in her mouth, a sure sign that she was performing per the specifications he set-up.

The hand on her cheek moved and then he was pinching her nose, staring at her intensely. It wasn’t like she could breathe very well with his dick punching her throat, but her air was completely cut with him pinching her nose. She didn’t panic. How could she? She didn’t have the thought to panic, couldn’t even fathom the concept of worry. He would let her breathe when she needed to. He knew when she needed to, not her. 

Her lungs started to protest, her diaphragm spasm, and she watched as he stared at her, blank expression, like he wasn’t controlling her air. Her eyes widened, stinging as they watered, but she didn’t close them longer than a blink. She choked around his cock and he sighed, almost a disappointed sound as he released her nose and pulled her head off his cock. She coughed, gasping in air, choking around the thicker saliva in her mouth from gagging. 

“For an inanimate object, you really do need a lot of air to function properly,” Lucifer grumbled, draining his glass before standing up. He left his cock out, hard and shiny with spit, and he moved past her, using the backs of his knuckles to push her out of the way. Without her arms, she falls to the side of her hip, still upright, legs bent and to the side, like a mermaid without a tail. Her eyes slide shut at the degradation. It was what she was when they played like this: mindless, thoughtless, just a thing that existed and felt, no emotion or complex brain function. A drone. 

When she was a person again, she’d have to remember to tell him how perfect he was. How he gave her  _ exactly _ what she needed.

There was a whistle, like one to get a dog’s attention, and when she looked up, Lucifer was walking back towards the couch, empty hand up and pointing at the couch. His dick was tucked away, pants zipped, but the tent there was obvious, even between the bulging of his pockets, full of things to use on her, hopefully. “Guess you went idle, now that you’re back online, up you get, knees on the cushions, face away.” 

“Yes, Sir,” she complied, swinging her legs, maneuvering her way up to her feet with her arms still behind her back. The leather of Lucifer’s belt was starting to dig in, would probably leave marks that would fade in the next day or two. She loved seeing them. It was the reminder for when they played like this, which Chloe got to stop being a person for a while. When Lucifer took control, took all of her pain and torturous thought and held it in his pocket, tucked away like a secret locket labeled CHLOE’S SUFFERING FOR SAFE KEEPING. 

Instead of a picture, it would be filled with her tears. 

The ones she’d cry before and after they played. 

She could hear him chuckle as she struggled to get in the position without falling. If he had wanted her to fall, he would have said so. They had done that before, where he’d tell her to get up, but fall back down. They fixed that glitch, though. He was behind her before she knew it, the sound of his glass on the coffee table accompanied the slight creak of the leather as she knelt on the couch. His hand was on the back of her neck, guiding her head down to rest along the back edge, cheek on the top of the cushion. Fingers trailed down her spine, over her bound wrists, and disappeared. 

There was a loud crack that flared into a burn on her ass in the shape of his hand, another, harder, stung on the other cheek, a mirrored shape. Nails scrape down over the burning prints and she groans, eyes squeezing shut, hips wiggling in an attempt to run away from the sting. That earned her a barrage of smacks, quick successions over both cheeks that echo out into the open floor plan. Her small cries could barely be heard over the sound of Lucifer’s hands spanking against heated flesh. 

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, grasping her hips almost painfully tight. “I knew we worked those kinks out last time. Your programming doesn’t allow you to move away from me. I’m glad I remember that now.” He was glad  _ she _ remembered, she was glad that he reminded her. 

‘No, Sir. I’m fixed now,” she whimpered, rolling her hips, an allowed action, in his grip. 

“For now, anyway,” he sighed, letting her go completely. She heard him fumbling around with something, trinkets in his pocket, the bulges that she noticed earlier. “Something always seems to break on you. Every time I pull you out. Top of the line, and you just keep breaking.” She could feel herself melt into the couch, her knees warm and lax, her back arched, her core clenching on nothing. Air conditioned air felt cool against her sex, could feel how slick with arousal she was, knew Lucifer could see it. 

“Oh, look at that,” Lucifer chimed, and suddenly there was a finger running between her folds, gliding easily through the mess. “Looks like you sprung a leak,” he said, tone close to mocking. She groaned as his nail scraped over her clit, her exposed chest pressing into the cushion, hard nipples poking into the leather. With her mouth open in a gasp, Lucifer’s hand was quick to cover it, but there was something he shoved into her mouth, small and woody. He pulled the object out enough so it was sticking halfway out of her mouth, caught between her teeth. Her eyes strained to look up at him, his face hovering above hers, lips in a smirk, eyes twinkling with mirth at the cork in her mouth. 

“Wrap your lips around it. Gotta plug one hole up to check the other,” he started, leaning down to nip at the tip of the cork. “Can’t have this one leaking while I’m busy with the other.” He hummed, pleased with himself, and with her, and her eyes nearly rolled back into her skull.  _ He was so goddamn perfect. _ “Green?” he asked, and she nodded fervently. He kissed her cheek, the out-of-character gentleness that was purely Lucifer, and then he was backing away. Back to the game. 

The cork in her mouth gave her something to focus on, kept any thoughts out of her head that didn’t revolve around the velvety feel of it between her teeth, the woody taste tinged with fruit on her tongue, the way her lips molded around it easily. It was consuming, forfeiting care about anything else. She was the thing kneeling on Lucifer’s couch, one hole plugged, the other leaking, needing to be checked. Perched for maintenance at the hands of a most capable mechanic for things like her. 

Two hands came down on her ass, each cheek, hard and brutal, the sound ringing in her ears. She yelled around the cork, grateful for something to bite down on as his hands rub at the tender, heated skin, making it feel like being pricked with hundreds of just-blown-out matches. “That’s what I like to see,” he said, rubbing her skin, like he could massage the sting down further, bone-deep. “I like to see the wear-and-tear on the things I play with, really see how useful they are to me.” 

She moaned, brain lulling into the floaty feeling of being nothing but bits and pieces at his disposal. Modified when needed, taken apart and put back together again to fit his desires. Customizable. A mouth was on her sex, sucking at her folds, tongue laving at anything exposed. She cried out, muffled by the cork, and her spasming fingers could just barely feel his hair brushing the tips. She felt the vibrations tunnel their way into her as he moaned, strong fingers digging into the smarting flesh of her ass, pulling her apart, exposing everything. 

“Like this,” he breathed, tongue poking at her dripping entrance. “This piece just starts leaking on its own, I didn’t even press any buttons, and there you go, dripping my favorite treat down onto my couch.” He spanked her, and she knew he could see the way her holes clenched at the bright burst of pain. She hadn’t noticed dripping anything onto the couch, but she believed it, she could feel her arousal between her thighs, in thin ribbons of glistening need. 

He gave her a moment to feel nothing before his mouth started its onslaught. He could do it forever, she knew that, had experienced it, seemingly not needing air like humans did, like her faulty systems made her need it. He doubled down, hands sliding down the backs of her thighs, nails leaving red welts in their wake before wrapping around, holding her in place just above her knees. She knew better than to move much, letting him pull her towards his face, to get the treat he paid for over and over again. 

Eating her out, eating his treat, always made her cum too fast. His tongue was magic, one of the best tools for the job, second only to his cock. He scraped his lower teeth over her clit, just the way she liked, and his tongue licked a thick, fat stripe between her lips, over her hole, before pushing inside. She was panting hard out of her nose, doing her best not to wiggle, he knew being still was impossible, she was an imperfect machine. His teeth pulled at the swollen lips of her sex, tugging, pinching, before releasing the stinging skin. She was squealing around the cork, keeping that hole plugged, it would surely be leaking without it. 

“There,” Lucifer hummed, sounding satisfied with his work. “Now that you’re all cleaned up, no longer making a mess, I think it’s time to get to the fine-tuning.” She whined a little around the cork, and she could see him smirk from where he was standing. He had left her on the edge, so close to orgasm it was a shock she hadn’t cum. She swallowed the copious amount of spit gathering in her mouth from holding something in it. He watched her throat work, eyes going dark. Looking right at her from where he stood behind her, off to the side enough for her turned head to see him, he slid a finger inside her quivering hole. Her eyes went wide at the intrusion, a zing of neurons firing off, tingling up her spine, setting off some heat coils low in her groin. 

“Oh no, did I wind you up too much? You appear to be glitching,” he mocked, finger sweeping around her walls, pinkie nudging at her twitching clit. He sighed, exacerbated. “Well, I should probably correct that before I start doing any detailed maintenance. I plan on getting 5 grand prizes out of you, I need you at top performance.” 

She groaned, eyes rolling back. Her body knew what  _ grand prizes _ were, she knew what detailed maintenance meant. It would have been overwhelming if she knew how to think, but she didn’t, she wasn’t programmed for that, so she felt nothing other than obedience to command, to the coding he would write into her CPU. The finger inside her pushed in, impossibly far, and she could feel his fist pressing against her skin, knuckles grazing her clit. He started jerking his hand, making it a flesh-and-bone vibrator, and he brought her to the brink of release before pulling out, sudden emptiness. 

Her teeth were stuck into the cork, thankful, no way it would slip out. Not another faulty hole. “Actually, I want to taste my first prize,” he muttered to himself, both hands grabbing at the meat of her ass, squeezing, hopefully leaving marks. “The first one is always the best,” he added, sinking down to his knees. She couldn’t really see him, but she could feel his hot breath against sodden skin; it felt threatening, dangerous, like she should worry if she had the capacity for it. 

It didn’t take long, she was already so wound up, so on edge, ready to jump. After a handful of long, wide licks and expertly strong sucks and scrapes of teeth, she was cumming, exploding on his tongue, twitching against his lips. He growled into it, doing his best to suck down her convulsions, hands digging into the fleshy mounds of her ass, nails biting. She groaned and whined, sounding like she was underwater with her mouth occupied the way it was, but he was right, the first one was always the best. Second in relief only to that of the last one. She rode the high of it, her mind going black, a blank slate, where time didn’t seem to exist anymore, not until she could feel his comforting kitten licks against her sex.

Lucifer reached up, yanking the cork from her mouth, the spongy material holding onto her teeth, making him wiggle it until he could put it back into his pocket for safe keeping. She gasped, the ability to make more than a muffled sound was relieving, and his hand gripped her jaw, turning her head even more, near discomfort. 

“I know it’s been a while since I’ve taken you out of my closet,” He started, voice loud, a punishing tone. “Let you get a little dusty and stiff, but I’m sure all those 0’s and 1’s in that processor of yours can compute what you’re supposed to do right now. What you’re supposed to  _ say. _ ” He punctuated the last word with a harsh bite to the inside of her thigh. 

“Thank you,  _ I’m sorry, _ Sir. Thank you, Sir!” she cried out, teeth sinking into her lower lip, missing the cork already. The length of his body made it possible, for his head to be behind her ass, his fingers able to hold her chin. It made her feel small, feel more like a defenseless thing at his mercy. At his control. At his reverent care.

He slapped her ass before moving, manhandling her around until he was sitting on the couch and she was kneeling in his lap, legs straddling his own, body kept up by a strong hand on her throat. If she forced her eyes down as far as they could go, she could see him, and he was looking up at her like a mad scientist, readying his creation for life, or looking to dismantle it and start anew. She was grateful for the hand on her throat; with her arms behind her back she surely would have slumped forward. She didn’t have a choice but to remain upright, no thought necessary. 

Her body felt heavy, but her head felt light, and Lucifer allowed her to bask in nothing but sensation while he got to look at his personal drone, think of all the knobs and buttons he could play with. He pulled her face down towards his, hand still on her throat, forcing her to lower her hips down to his. Her clit, swollen and sensitive, pressed against the cloth-covered hardness of his erection, eliciting a groan, and he pushed his hips up into it, making the over sensitized nerves scream. He sneered at her whimper, using his free hand to push two fingers past her lips, into her mouth. 

He fingered her mouth like that, noses almost touching, his eyes never leaving hers, and all she had to do was be still and feel the soft, salty pads of his two fingers glide over her tongue. He tilted her head around, seeking the best angle with the best view, observing how her hole took his digits. Her only task was to keep her eyes open, an unspoken, but well conditioned, rule. Bringing her face further down, until he could press his forehead to hers, he pushed his fingers in as far as he could, knuckles near bruising against her lips

His fingertips grazed the back of her throat, like trying to find the end of her tongue, and she gagged around them, loud and aggressive, and he smiled, pleased. He bit his lower lip, gagging her again, before pressing his lips to hers. They kissed around his fingers, still lazily thrusting in and out of her mouth, saliva dribbling down their chins. Their tongues slid between his fingers, now scissoring, spreading out into the soft insides of her cheeks, wet and sloppy, and he moaned into it. He bit her lip before pulling away, his fingers pressing down against her tongue as they slid out. 

Lucifer pushed her back up and away, his grip on her neck firm but not cutting off two much blood or air. Looking her right in the eye, he brought his wet digits down and slid them inside of her, crooking them, hooking behind the ridge of her pelvic bone, pressing. Her jaw fell slack as she gasped, eyes going wide as he found that spot inside of her on the first try, expertly, like he made it. He huffed a laugh at her reaction, her thighs trembling as she clenched around his fingers.

“This is a good button, too,” he hummed, rubbing his fingers gentling inside of her, pressing into that spongy bundle of nerves hard, a constant pressure that made her feel like she would blast off his lap at any second. “It can be a little tricky, but I know  _ just _ how to press this one.” Chloe heaved a breath as he slid his fingers out before shoving them back in, adding a third. “Don’t I?” he asked, shaking her by the grip on her throat. 

“ _ Fuck, _ Yes, Sir, you do.” She tried not to roll her hips or grind them down onto him, she hadn’t been given any commands, only data to analyze, to find accurate. 

“I like you like this,” he said, almost a whisper, as his eyes roamed over the body in front of him. “A motherboard of buttons and knobs I can press and twist to see what they do.” She groaned, being reduced down to nothing but a plate of controls to experiment with was what she wanted. She wasn’t complex, she was simple, like a vintage arcade box: a few buttons, a few knobs, a place to put currency in, a place for prizes to fall out of. 

Chloe clamped her walls around the intrusion of his fingers, all three, a tight fit, and she tried to squeeze them enough to make friction, enough to set her off again. Lucifer’s lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, and he looked down to where his palm was visible between her legs. His face still tilted down, he looked up with his eyes, through thick lashes, and smirked as he pressed the heel of his palm to her clit, fingers curling inside her. Her mouth opened as wide as it could with his large hand pressing beneath her chin

“How could I forget?” Lucifer questioned, voice deep and thick, like molasses, like motor oil, in her ears, sliding through her circuitry, loosening her up. “The more you put in it, the more you get out.” He started moving his hand, forwards and backwards, more of a front-to-back motion than an up-and-down. His fingers pressed hard into that inner nerve bundle while the heel of his palm applied steady pressure to her clit. 

She groaned, loudly, and when his hand squeezed her throat harder, reducing blood flow, reducing data input, she felt floaty and electric. He squeezed, his hand moving furiously between her thighs, and just as her breath hitched as much as it could, her body tensing, her hands clenching behind her back, he loosened his grip, letting oxygen back into her brain, and she imploded. With a hoarse cry, she clamped down on his fingers, rhythmically, pulsing against wiggling digits, his palm a steady slide over her slick clit. 

She could hear herself inhaling sharply, a high-pitch gasping, her body still convulsing, her walls still trembling around him. His hand left her throat long enough to give her one solid slap on her cheek before gripping her throat again, pulling his fingers out of her heat to rub at the swollen, sensitive nub. “ _ Oh, fuck!”  _ she nearly screamed, body jolting at the onslaught. She was always too sensitive after an orgasm, especially after two, but Lucifer loved to push her, loved to torture her body with too much sensation. It  _ always  _ made her brain short-circuit beautifully. 

“It’s going to be so much fun tweaking three more out of you,” he groaned, slowly rubbing her clit, relentlessly, moaning at her struggle to move from his ministrations. He’d never let her, unless she said her safeword, and she was nowhere near needing that. 

Lucifer made good on his word, seemingly having an absolute blast wringing out two more orgasms from her, all while holding her in the same position. He changed-up his tactics, switching from fucking her hole with three or four fingers to circling her clit while pinching and twisting her nipples. The fourth orgasm was torn from her body with half his fist inside of her, his thumb pressing her clit, his teeth clamping down on one nipple. It was like rapture, an out-of-body experience, like her soul was hovering over her body, making her a real drone, before he sucked it back down with a harsh scrape of teeth over her collarbone. 

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you,” she mumbled, breathless, boneless, hardware shooting sparks. Lucifer continued to mouth at her chest, sucking bruises into her skin, marking her up, making her look used and played with,a roughhouse-appropriate toy. His hand left the swollen, dripping wet flesh between her thighs, moving up, dragging arousal with it, and kneading her breast. The hand on her throat never let up. It was thrilling, intoxicating, the sensation of being held so close to the brink of unconsciousness but not being allowed to cross-over. 

He pulled her head down to kiss her again, and she was too worked-over to do much else but let his mouth and tongue plunder hers, take what they wanted, taste her, bite at her, lick at their mixed saliva. He chuckled against the side of her face when her body convulsed some more, just at the feel of the air conditioning clicking on, a cool breeze brushing over wet, sensitive buttons, receptacles. He pinched skin here and there, making her squirm, as his hand traveled back down to her pussy. She held her breath when he slapped her there, lighter than on the face, but no less shocking, exhilarating. He did it again, and again, each time making her body jump, a gasp escape through her slightly constricted throat. He brought his hand towards his mouth, looking her right in the eyes as he licked them, closing his eyes and moaning around them, making a show. She was helpless against that, watching him savor her taste, his treat, and then his hand was on her again, circling her clit, rubbing mercilessly, eyes glaring right into her soul, her CPU. 

It was so much, too much, the sensations overwhelming, and her body struggled in his hold, to no avail. He sneered at her, happily, like he knew how it was feeling, like he knew she was struggling with wanting more and needing to get away from it. The good thing about inventors, mechanics, was that they hardly cared what their invention, their machine, felt. 

“No, no, no. I can’t, _ I can’t _ ,” she stuttered, body convulsing as the overstimulation forced her muscles to spasm repeatedly. His hand never stopped moving. She never used her safeword. With all the strength she could muster, she tried to rotate her hips away from his hand, the only thing she had was her core, her arms were useless behind her back, her legs were stretched wide over his. She was at his mercy, at his will, and she loved it. 

Suddenly, her back was slammed into cool leather. She was no longer hovering over Lucifer’s lap, she was being pressed into the couch, Lucifer kneeling between her spread legs. Her arms were uncomfortable behind her back, but the softness of the couch made it tolerable, gave her something else to feel and not think about. The hand on her throat squeezed in two-second intervals, making her dizzy, like falling in love all over again. His face was over hers, and he was looking just as wrecked as she looked, blown pupils with a thin halo of glowing red around them. 

“Oh, really? How do you know that?” he growled, eyes looking over her features, taking in the streaked makeup, her reddened face. “You can’t think. You don’t know things. You’re just an object, a thing, my CumBot 3000, you don’t know anything,” he ranted, and the world was swallowed down to just the two of them, then and there, nothing else, just Lucifer and his favorite gadget. “I know things. I know you can cum again, and you will. All I have to do is keep pressing the right button and you’ll keep cumming. Because that’s what you do. I press the buttons, you do what you’re programmed to do.”

All she could do was try to nod, speech was not an option at that point. He moaned again, as she whined, and he leaned down to swallow her noises, to suffocate them with his mouth. He kissed her filthily, tongue sliding towards the back of her throat, curling around her teeth. All she knew and felt was  _ Lucifer _ , and she couldn’t have been happier. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he breathed, teeth digging into her lower lip, his tongue poking out to soothe the sting. “I want one more out of you, CumBot, and you’re going to give it to me. Then I get to clean you up and pack you away to come and play again another day.” The sang the last bit, and it was the most wonderfully threatening lullaby she had ever heard. “Color.”

“Green,” she whimpered, because she wanted it, she really did want it. All of it. She could feel how close to destruction she was, how close to being a jumbled mess of droid-parts, broken apart, put back together by skilled, meticulous hands. 

Lucifer growled again, leaning down to kiss her mouth, pulling away with a loud  _ pop _ . “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasped, and then he got to work. He pulled out the works, mouth sucking at her nipples, switching sides when the other felt worked enough, his hand going from rubbing her clit to sliding two fingers inside her clenching hole. From his kneeling position between her legs, she could feel his painfully hard cock against her leg, stretching the material of his slacks, and he rocked his hip up against her thigh, turning her on further. 

He had made it clear that this was for her, she needed a maintenance session, but she couldn’t help but want his cock. It was only natural to want something so perfect at making her forget about everything else but the feeling of being impaled on it. She was grateful when she felt the tingling switch from painful to overwhelming. She knew she could cum at any second, her body so strung-out that the build-up was imperceivable.

“Come on, give it to me,” Lucifer growled against her chest, rubbing his face between her breasts, his stubble scratching. “I’m pressing all these buttons, tweaking all these knobs… are you malfunctioning already?”

“No,  _ fuck _ , I’m trying, Sir,” Chloe pleaded, no longer able to control her writhing, happy to be under him and not being held up. With her arms behind her back, her spine was forced to arch to accommodate the position, and it left her breasts open to whatever he wanted to do with them. 

“What’s not fucking computing then?” he questioned, voice loud and daunting. He let go of her throat to dole out two sharp slaps across each breast, lightning bolts electrifying through her nipples. She cried out and he covered her mouth, silencing her, increasing the speed and pressure of his hand. She could feel her eyes beginning to role, eyelids fluttering, legs quaking. “What else could a faulty thing like you need? What else do I have to fucking press?” He added short, broad smacks against her cheek for every word of the last sentence. She was near bliss, near nirvana, the closest to oblivion she could ever want to be. 

She didn’t have an answer, she didn’t know. She couldn’t think. She had to trust that he would know, that he did no. She bit her lip, body rolling under his, and she was so close,  _ so close _ , she just needed one thing to send her over, to give him his final prize. He scratched his nails down her neck, down her chest, over her stomach before returning his grip to her throat. He lowered his face down, nose to nose, and licked over her lips, wet and filthy. 

“Stick out your tongue.” A command, she could follow that, would obey anything that deep, rough voice would order. She opened her mouth, tongue moving up and past her lips. His teeth clamped halfway down and her eyes slammed shut, the sharp tang of blood lightly appearing in her mouth, and she was cumming. It was hard, exhausting, and painful. It was amazing. It was everything she needed to finally let it all out. Release of everything physical and nonphysical.  _ Finally _ .

Her body jolted into hypersensitivity as quickly as it had cum, and she wasn’t sure when she had started crying, but tears were streaming down her cheeks, she could hear herself chanting out  _ thank yous _ as her lungs heaved with sobs. It always happened like that, when she finally broke physically, the dam of her mind, her emotions, broke, as well. It was what she needed, to be beaten down until she was a sobbing mess, until she was able to allow herself to cry, to release all of her emotions. Catharsis by surrender. 

Lucifer hurriedly pulled her up, unclasping the belt from her wrists, sweeping her up in his arms, arranging them so he was covering her back, her body rolled into a ball, naked, bruised, open,  _ perfect _ . He threw his leg over hers, his arms wrapping around her entire frame, trying to still the wracking sobs, whispering praises and assurances in her ear. Covering her, a shield, from the rest of the world; blocking her away from all that hurt her and hurt others. His lips trailed comforting kisses down her neck, over her shoulders as he squeezed her harder, and she knew he’d be close to tears behind her. It broke him to see her like that: so open and vulnerable. Every time. 

He would hold her like that, whispering on occasion, until she stopped crying, and then he would carry her to the bath, for further maintenance. The main part of their play was over, but the aftercare, his favorite part, was vital for him. It was important for her, too, but it didn’t provide the same release that being owned did. Aftercare was for him, where he got to take care of his toy, make sure it was clean and refueled before being put away, before Chloe had to be a regular person again.

The water was always the perfect temperature, just on the right side of too hot, and he always put in the best oils, lavender, sage, mint, rosemary, sandalwood; relaxing, replenishing. He’d wash her with the finest soaps, loofah scrubbing away at her skin, and she always liked how it felt harsher across her more raw areas. He’d wash her hair, massage her scalp, all in silence, with chaste kisses across her skin here and there. He would dry her off with the softest, fluffiest towel, carry her to his bed, where he’d make her drink a glass of water, feed her some fruit, before removing the towel and tucking her into his bed. She would watch him strip down to nothing, all bare and glorious, before slipping into the bed behind her. 

He would pet her damp hair, hold her tightly, giving her his heat, and she would fall asleep in the most gentle arms she knew. In arms that gave her soft after crying, in hands that could deliver enough hurt, enough sensation, to make her mind tap-out for a while. 

He was her sanctuary, just as much she was his. 

When they woke, he would fuck her just how she liked, hard and rough, and then they would go about their day as usual. Lucifer had packed away his automaton that night, safely in his closet, cleaned and ready for the next time she got to be played with. 

Chloe could never not smile when she looked at his closet, at the corner where she could imagine herself kneeling, powered-off, charging light blinking. 

**Author's Note:**

> So.... what did you think? Not as scary as it sounded, right?  
> I talked to a friend and told her I thought of this as sweet sadomasochism... was that accurate?  
> haha.
> 
> Anyway, hit me up down below. I always love your thoughts! They fuel me!
> 
> Until the next one :)


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